The Five Senses
by Kyoka-BOO
Summary: Fuji's five senses--and Tezuka.


Wonderful. This is just something I forgot about that was sitting here for a while waiting to be posted. I'm sorry I'm so inactive otherwise.

All disclaimers apply. Reviews are appreciated.

* * *

**The Five Senses**

Sight—Fuji couldn't imagine if he was blind and couldn't see.

Every day, there were more things to see; there were more things to remember. That was the reason he brought his camera to his eye and took photographs of the great beauty he encountered every day. In case he ever lost touch with that beauty, if he was ever unhappy and there was nothing to find in his current life, he could simply look back at the pictures of family and friends and smile as sweetly as he always did, satisfied by the remembrance yet pained by the nostalgia.

His photographs were a view from his eyes. He cared immensely for his companions. Pictures of Yuuta and the rest of his family adorned his walls, while one corner housed many pictures of the Seigaku regulars stood smiling while their captain, Tezuka Kunimitsu, looked over them with a stern frown.

Fuji liked the stubborn frown and the unruly hair. If he went blind, seeing Tezuka would be one of the things he would miss the most.

* * *

Hearing—the world was a roar of sounds. Comprehending the fast-paced, flowing atmosphere would be impossible, he assumed, if he were deaf. No, he wouldn't even be here. He would be in a school for the disabled, learning sign language with other deaf students.

His hearing was one of the many things that brought him to Seigaku. Here, he comprehended each and every sound with stunning intelligence, whether it is on the tennis courts or in the classrooms during a lecture. The sounds he was familiar with were the ones most comforting; he could not live without the comfort of classical music, or the sound of the tennis ball whizzing through the air and hitting the ground.

Maybe he wasn't just a genius for intelligence and skill; he utilized his hearing as carefully as his sight; he listened to the way the wind sounded as it rustled the grass or he strained his ears when he hear the soft-spoken chatter coming from a few tennis courts away.

However, he supposed that one of the things he was most accustomed to hearing and most affectionate towards was the familiar "Twenty laps!"

* * *

Smell—there were things pleasant and unpleasant in his life.

Though nobody agreed with him, Fuji thought that the smell of Inui juice was wonderful; he also thought that overpowering amounts of peppers, wasabi, and various hot sauces was the most appetizing in the world while many others covered their eyes and turned in the other direction. However, despite all these odd scents, he needed to agree on one that he truly liked.

He doubted that girls got near Tezuka at all—the captain was too strict and traditional to allow a girl near whom he didn't know, and though Tezuka was respectful to all, he had not yet developed the skills necessary to associate with members of the opposite sex. They always talked about how nice they thought he smelled. Fuji had to agree, though he didn't often agree with such notions.

Tezuka's scent was odd. It was nothing magical, but it was something he was familiar with, considering that on a few occasions when he walked home with Tezuka and got caught in the rain he leant him a shirt. If Fuji ever got a moment alone, he would tug at the long sleeves that dragged past his wrists and briefly sniff the fabric. It smelled natural with a hint of cologne. It was so subtle that it could only be smelt directly. Fuji assumed that if he were ever to be in a close embrace with the man, he would be able to drown within the comforting, familiar scent.

Out of all things, Tezuka was sure that the scent was strongest when they were close, and he was so dizzied by it that he thought himself in love.

* * *

Touch—Fuji was never partial to it, of course. He wasn't a clingy person, but there was no denying that there. Touch bound him to his family, by a cordial pat on the shoulder, or the feeling he got when he hugged his younger brother who always protested vehemently.

Touch was what bound him physically to humans—it was displayed in the joyous way Eiji threw his arms around his shoulder, or the satisfaction he got in shaking his opponent's hand after a satisfying game of tennis. It was the way he used to cling to his best friend's hand when he was a young child as they ran across the street.

There was no denying natural feelings—never stepping in the same water twice each time he walked barefoot in a river when he took the occasional hike through the wilderness with Tezuka. He could feel the smooth rocks underfoot and the way the cold water clung to his skin when he lifted it from the river. There was no denying that he held that same wild, unfathomable power when he stood on the tennis courts and lifted the tennis racket, the rough grip tape tickling his palms.

There were memories in touch, like the time he plucked a fallen cherry blossom petal and ran his thumb across the silky surface in remembrance of the first time his parents took him to see the cherry blossoms in bloom at the park; it felt even stronger when he took a tennis ball in hand and remembering the power he felt just from standing next to Tezuka on the courts or helping him clean up after practice in their first year.

There were subtle differences in his contact with Tezuka, but they were special, nonetheless and held a sweet spot in his heart. There were times when they stood inches apart as they watched their fellow club members. There were times they jogged side-by-side or sat next to each other in an empty classroom reviewing their history notes. Even when he was gifted with small pleasures of more significant touches, grabbing Tezuka's hands in their first year for only a second, having Tezuka's arm around his shoulder in his third year, or feeling the strong hand on his arm at their graduation ceremony, Fuji never derived more power from anything; no touch could ever surpass the power he felt by standing at Tezuka's side.

* * *

People always said that Fuji had an odd sense of taste. He liked the spiciest foods that even the most seasoned fan couldn't stomach. He enjoyed blended vegetable concoctions that he would purposefully make mistakes for just to try. One of the only things that he wasn't able to stomach was a horrendous black version of the juice that Fuji had drank in one sip, casually but then frowned as his world before him blurred and his knees gave out from under him before he could even comprehend. That was the only thing.

Despite this, Fuji did not generally like sweet things. He did not like cakes and, unless it involved wasabi, he only ate ice cream on occasion. He certainly did not enjoy the sweet cakes and treats that his mother made for the celebration of the New Year. Even less, he did not like chocolate or candy. The only sweet fruit that he enjoyed was strawberries.

Even when he knew this well enough, he couldn't help but admit that Tezuka was sweet.

He tasted odd—like a mixture of tea and starchy white rice. As he searched deeper within the sensation, though, he felt something more significant that thrummed within his heart and against his lips. Oddly enough, Tezuka tasted like the slightest hint of strawberries—subtle, but not overpowering. Fuji reveled in it briefly. So, he concluded that Tezuka was his own flavor and that he simply liked it, no matter how rare it was that he was able to taste it.

Fuji pulled from his thoughts and watched Tezuka's lips carefully, his eyes dancing with mischief.

There was never a moment in which he didn't revel in the sensations, new and thrilling, that Tezuka provided.


End file.
